When I fell pregnant, I stopped writing. If you read my drivel often (thanks mom) you would have noticed this. A nearly 3 year blank space. Why? Well I guess it was because I thought that that time belonged to me, and me alone. I wanted to keep somethings personal. If you know me, you know that this is a near on impossible task on any other day. I will happily tell people behind me in Checkers that I wish the queue would go faster as I am desperate to get back to the car so I can pull my thong out of my bum because holy fucking shit, it’s right up there… so for me to keep any personal detail to myself is, well… hard. (Filters are for other people).
I was desperate to write posts like “Right – so let’s talk haemorrhoids!” throughout my pregnancy, because come on!! Don’t lie, don’t pretend, you’ve all had one… mine was called Carl. No I lie… I never named mine, but I wish I had… but because I couldn’t see his face (Yes, haemorrhoids are always male) I felt that naming him wouldn’t be kind… what if he were more of a Rupert?
However, I had a driving force behind my sudden silence. My baby. My precious sweet little baby that would be arriving in the world would one day learn to read, and in doing so might one day stumble upon my blog, and be forced to read about her mother’s vagina, and how her father puked burger patty into mom’s electric car windows once. Ahhh memories, that burger patty stayed with us for a very… very… long time.
If she were ever to read any of it, what would she think of her mom?
And so I stopped writing. Stopped doing the one thing that allowed me to vent, rage, and occasionally talk about unicorn vaginas. And in doing so, I lost my outlet, I lost me.
But now, because hindsight is always 20/20, I have decided FUCK THIS SHIT! And to start writing again. I am who I am, I write silly things, I use very bad words and am descriptive in ways that make prudish people’s lips make that funny shape, like an arsehole shape… you know the one.
I suspect some of your lips might just have done that.
Ava will read this one day. Maybe she’ll laugh. Maybe she won’t. But all of this is less about her and more about me.
So in advance: I’m sorry my pickle, if reading all of this has made you cringe. If you think it’s funny then *fist bump*. If not, HOW THE FUCK DO YOU EVEN HAVE ACCESS TO THE INTERNET FROM THE NUNNERY IN PIKSONDERWATER…?!
Oh and hold on, because if you don’t like your TRUE birth story being told, not the one about how there was a stream of golden sunlight gently touching my sweaty brow from the window, while I gave a small sneeze and you just popped out with a smile on your face, and more of the real mom version where I managed to get myself a smaller vagina from giving birth instead of one like a clowns pocket, then stop reading now…